


Epithet Guised: The Museum Trio

by Cazuki



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Giovanni is a Great Big Brother, I just wanted to write cute sibling stuff okay?, Kinda?, Museum Trio, Post-Canon, Sleepovers, With hints of character development, headcanons, this is all very platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazuki/pseuds/Cazuki
Summary: Sylvie wakes up with a strange new predicament and unwittingly involves Molly and Giovanni in his own nonsense. He isn't having much luck stopping them from getting involved however.A fluffy and slightly angsty sleepover fiction which occurs post Redwood and confronts some of the left-over threads of the series while fulfilling the fandom's love of fluffy found family stories.
Relationships: Molly Blyndeff & Giovanni Potage, Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling & Giovanni Potage, Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling & Molly Blyndeff, Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling & Molly Blyndeff & Giovanni Potage
Comments: 18
Kudos: 160





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The summary says it all folks! I wanted to write fluff and strung it together with a few small plot threads and thus have created this. I would love comments, questions and constructive criticism in the comments. Hopefully my characterisation is okay as this is my first time writing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Ironically for a person with his epithet, Sylvester rarely wakes up smoothly. Spasming gracelessly to consciousness, he’s assaulted by baaing sheep, singing birds and his bedroom’s ceiling. He expects a mind-numbing blaring from the alarm clock he keeps on his bedside table but finds it remarkably absent. He usually never forgets to set it the previous night, even at the end of to twenty-four hour days when he can barely stand.  
_When did I fall asleep? You’re getting careless Ashling._

Shifting slightly below the covers, Sylvester notices he’d covered himself in a small flock of Counting Sheep during the night. That itself isn’t unusual, considering the texture and warmth of woolly fleece is often enough to chase away nightmares. What’s strange is just how many of them there are, covering every inch of the bed and spilling in some places onto the floor. Sylvester wipes the sleep-dust from his eyes.   
_What time is it?_  
He reaches blindly for his glasses on the bedside table, pushing away some of the sheep who quietly disperse into dust at his touch. Feeling the cool metal and clack of plastic he puts them on. He sits up, more sheep disappearing as he leans on the headboard, the covers pooling around his pyjama bottoms. A sharp pain spikes up his spine briefly, settling when he readjusts himself. Perhaps he should follow Dr. Beefton’s suggestions of doing some stretching before going to bed. (He won’t, of course, because going to bed is rarely a planned thing for him to begin with. But it’s a nice thought.)

Dulled sunlight and birdsong seeps into his apartment’s bedroom through the slats of the blinds, forcing him to wake fully. It strikes Sylvester that he doesn’t exactly remember when he went to bed. His changeable hours mean he often doesn’t sleep until his body actively forces him to. An unfortunate reality of the workplace and his own drive. His epithet means he’s occasionally – _very occasionally_ – prone to nodding off at odd times. Such instances are rare and short. He’s a psychologist after all and one that specialises in epithets, including his own. To lose control of his epithet frequently would be a disservice to himself and his craft. Still, he always at least has some idea.

He tries to piece the last moments of his consciousness together in his mind. He remembers feeling drowsy at the end of his shift. More than usual. _Light-headed, maybe?_ Since the heathens that formed the local governmental forces won’t grant him a licence, public transport is his primary transport method. He considered asking for a lift home, only to remember none of his colleagues lived in his neighbourhood. He hadn’t felt like explaining directions to them in his nigh-catatonic state. He remembers calling for Dr. Beefton and then the rest is a blur of motion, sickness and half-forgotten images. The heaving streets of Sweet Jazz City, the unsteady floor of his apartment, falling into his bed. Then nothing. 

And yet now he feels perfectly fine. In fact, he feels more aware than he usually had rights to be in the morning.   
_Weird…_  
He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks at the ancient alarm clock that sits behind his favourite yo-yo and a small sheep plushie he’d received from Molly at her first counselling appointment. It’s certainly later than his usual wake-up, but not so much his day will be unproductive. 

He finds himself tracing back over the previous day, hoping to find the source of his sudden condition. It was a normal day under most accounts. As normal as things could be after the Arsene Incident. Get up, get ready, go to work, write some emails and take some appointments. So far, so good. He’d worked though lunch, but that wasn’t unusual. A few returning patients for check-ups... Ah, yes! He’d received a new patient yesterday. A young child. Eleven, if he remembered correctly. She’d come in with her parents for a consultation on her epithet following her recent epiphany. She’d already been to a paediatrician and her parents were looking to find out… _something_. Something about it causing issues at school, bluh bluh blah blah. The rest of the conversation flitters piecemeal around his mind. That had to be it. He furrows his brow, rubbing a finger under his chin to focus his thoughts.

 _Think, Sylvester, think_. 

He attempts to recall his notes.  
Name of Patient: Sonia Mascarilla. Age: 11. Epithet: _Guise_.

 _That's it!_ Sylvester snaps his fingers, smirking and chuckling.  
_Score again for Dr. Sylvester Ashling._  
At the exact same time, he feels something _flick_. It’s subtle, just barely registering on the fringes of his mind, but it’s there. His thoughts stop dead. He scans the room and sees nothing. The flick happens again, more pronounced this time. It feels like it’s somewhere above him, so he looks up and again sees nothing. He freezes when he moves his head back down. Did his head always feel this heavy? Or, well, not heavy really, just… _lop-sided_. Instinctually he reaches up, fingers trying to find the exact source of the new weight. His fingers catch something soft and dainty and vaguely concave in shape. Two of them. His heart sinks.

Flipping to his side, throwing off the last few Counting Sheep, he reaches for his phone. Curse Dr. Beefton’s inane advice of not having his phone next to his head during the night. Flinging open a small drawer, he starts fumbling through old papers and discarded pens for the infernal device. He notes, with a growing pit in his stomach, that he feels an entanglement in his sheets that doesn’t track with the position of his legs. Finally, at the very back of the drawer his fingers touch the edge of his rubberised phone case.

“Yes!”  
He reaches just that bit more to grab the phone when a sudden bout of dizziness overtakes him. Leaning precariously over his bed as he is, his body crumples and he and the table fall to the carpeted floor. Slowly, the world stops spinning and Sylvester gains enough wherewithal back to grasp his phone. He twists to sit up again and hisses when his backside scrapes awkwardly across the floor. Wait, how the heck did that make sense? Simultaneously, he accesses the camera function on his phone and detangles the remains of his sheets from his body. The camera turns on and the sheets fly away.

Sylvester screams so loud he was damn sure the entire apartment shook.


	2. Dr. Sylvester Ashling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are again folks. Next chapter will be a longer wait, but here's chapter 2 to finish the set-up for the story.

“This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!” Dr. Ashling mumbles disbelievingly to himself, standing in front of his bathroom mirror. He looks like his usual self, if unkempt from sleep. All except for two alien appendages that rest in his hair.   
Ears. Not human ears. Those still rested in their usual positions. These ones were a little higher, pointing towards the ceiling. Sylvester is not a stupid boy- man. Not a stupid _man_. He recognises animal ears when he sees them. If he’s not mistaken, the ears are definitively feline, the backs coated in soft, downy fur the same colour as the rest of his hair. He clicks his fingers experimentally on the right side of his head and tries not to flinch when the corresponding ear flicks towards the sound. He does the same for the other side with similar results. However the ears got there, they appeared to be fully functional. If anything, his hearing felt keener that it had ever been before. It would be fascinating if it weren’t so disconcerting.

Sylvester yelps when the other unwanted attachment brushes the backs of his legs, drawing attention to itself. He turns to re-examine the large, fluffy cat’s tail that bobs awkwardly from over his pyjama bottoms. Yet again, it’s the same downy fur from the ears and the same colour as his other hair. A flash of annoyance fills him and the tail reacts, trashing about wildly. Panicking, he grabs it unthinkingly. The tail pulses between his palms like an angry snake and it isn’t until Sylvester takes some deep breaths and calms down that the tail settles and droops.

“What the heck…” He sighs and thinks through his options. It was the weekend. Good news; that meant he didn’t have to go to work looking like this. Bad news; the office would be shut. He won’t be able to get to the files that document Sonia’s epithet or her contact details. All he has to go on are his oddly sparse memories of the session. The haziness is likely another form of the Guise epithet at work, since he never forgets a patient. He can remember the parents just fine, but Sonia is like a smug on a lens. “Great. Just fantastic!” He growls, dragging a hand through his already mushed hair. “Now what do I do?”

The universe answers by means of his doorbell buzzing. Sylvester’s tail poofs to almost double-size as he shocks himself from his stupor.   
_Who the heck is that? I’m not expecting anyone!_

He rushes out of the bathroom and grabs his yo-yo from the floor, instinctively pulling it up into combat position. He advances carefully to his living room where he has clear sight of the front door. The buzzer rings again and his ears flick in all directions to catch the sound.   
_First those and now this? Well, you better be ready to get more than you bargained for, buster, because this doctor doesn’t go down without a fight_.   
He hears knocking from the door now, some polite and quiet while others are harsher. A haze of sleep dust begins to form by the door, ready to rain down at a moment’s notice. _What kind of robber knocks on the door? This guy must be stupid. Hah, an easy victory._

A voice that doesn’t belong to a man warbles through the door, inaudible without his new awareness. “Sylvie? Are you asleep? It’s Molly!”   
“Open the door, kid! I know you’re awake in there because nerds like you never sleep late even on weekends!”   
“Boss, you got up early to drive me here…”   
“That was important business Beartrap! Your gracious boss isn’t a monster.”

_Molly? The Criminal?_ _Why are they here now? Wait… is it?_ Sylvester fishes his phone from his pocket and sees a calendar notification for a ‘hangout’ today with Molly. _Of course it is…_   
The tension relaxes and Sylvester lowers the yo-yo and opens a window quietly to air out the dust. Quickly his relief turned to apprehension as he considers the situation. He was a cat-man! He couldn’t let Molly see him like this! Should he just call her? Tell her he couldn’t make today? But she’d been looking forward to it (and secretly so had he).

The tapping continues and now he recognises the sound of wood on wood. He counts the beats. Six and rising.   
“Boss, what are you doing?”   
“I know a good way to get the dork up Beartrap. With a hearty slap from by Soulslugger Doombat!”   
“I thought we agreed no property damage?”   
“The nerd can pay for it!”

_Wait!_   
Sylvester runs to the door. Ten beats and rising. If that got to thirteen he could kiss his deposit goodbye. As he flicks off the chain he hears a yell from the other side of the door.   
“Wait!” He opens the door just as Giovanni, wearing a jacket and jeans combo, is halfway through his swing. Molly is pre-emptively wincing beside him, mentally writing a detailed apology. The swing stops immediately mid-air and Giovanni relaxes his posture, puffing out his chest proudly.

“See? Your boss always has the best ideas Beartrap.”   
Molly hums, considering the point, before smiling apologetically at Sylvester. “I’m sorry about that Sylvie, Giovanni was just… uh…”   
Sylvie wonders what stopped the girl before he realises his predicament.

“Uh… I can explain.”  
Molly doesn’t give him the chance. Her eyes shine. “Kitty!”

Today was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is curious about the epithet Guise, the idea is as such:  
> This epithet allows for the user to disguise both herself, her allies and enemies. In the case of herself, she can look however she wants, presuming she can visualise the final appearance. She can also alter the memories of onlookers and erase herself from their perception, though this doesn't work on written details.  
> The way Sonia uses this epithet isn't fully defined yet, as she's only just learnt it so is feeling out the pathways (some not entirely consciously). Sonia's name is a combination of the words 'Persona' from which I derived 'Sonia' and the Spanish work for Mask 'Mascarilla'.
> 
> I won't claim that all her powers make sense, but it's enough for the story so suspend your disbelief for the sake of fluff folks haha. See you next time.


	3. Molly Blyndeff

If Molly’s (mostly unwilling) retail experience taught her anything, it was that a good way to deal with problems was to put them in basic terms. So, here’s the problem. Slyvie is now part kitten. Well, technically he’s part cat. Kitten sounds cuter though so Molly’s just going to keep using that, at least internally. _It’ll be bad if he gets too self-conscious. He might get mad._  
She highly doubts that. For as long as she’s known Slyvie, which admittedly isn’t long, he’s rarely gotten angry with anyone. Sure, there was when they first met in the museum… but that was a misunderstanding! She doesn’t hold it against him. He only really got mad at Giovanni. That was more complicated. 

Exhibit A: Giovanni doesn’t wait two seconds before bursting out laughing. Tears start to gather in his eyes, leaning on the doorframe to keep himself balanced. “H-holy crap Poindexter-haha! Who’s dream did you have to bring to life to get those?”  
Slyvie’s tail poofs out and his ears flatten as close as they can to his hair. (Cute.) “Oh shut the hell up! Now do you see why I didn’t answer the door?” 

Molly realises the question is being directed at her and pauses to find an answer that won’t make this situation worse. She’s good at conflict management, though only recently has she been experimenting with the more assertive form rather than simply grinning and bearing it.  
“Uh, Boss? We shouldn’t be laughing about this. Slyvie might be in trouble.”  
It takes Giovanni a bit of time and false stops, but he seems to process the situation and stop laughing. He’s still grinning at Slyvie’s expense but it’s good enough. Slyvie seems to think so too, because his tail stop trashing and his shoulders loosen just a little.   
“Yeah, you’re right Beartrap. Looks like the kid needs our help-“, Giovanni pauses for dramatic effect, eyes going wide, hands mimicking ears and his face morphing into a smug catty smile, “with a little _paw_ blem!”  
Slyvie hisses at that, giving Molly the chance to notice his incisors have grown slightly larger. (It’s adorable but now’s not the time). “We’ll see how much you’re laughing when I call the cops you insufferable troglodyte!”  
Giovanni’s face drops into a scowl. “Hey, I know what that word means!”  
Sylvie huffs. “Great, then you should be able to understand this: Get out of my apartment! Or I’ll put an end to the fact you are somehow, _unfathomably_ , still not in jail.”  
“Hah!” Giovanni recovers, placing a hand over his chest to pose “Like the great Giovanni Potage is afraid of a mere prison! Besides, they’d have to bring a whole army to take down me and Beartrap, right?”   
Molly is still floored sometimes by how emotionally sensitive and yet flexible Giovanni is. Realising it’s her cue to speak she takes another moment to think of what to say. Despite everything, Giovanni and Slyvie wait patiently for her opinion without interrupting her. She appreciates it.  
“Right! But, uhm… I think this is serious Boss. Could you-“ Giovanni quirks a brow and she corrects herself. “I want you to stop making fun of Slyvie so we can help him.”

Giovanni smiles, a familiar softness that she recognises as him being proud of her. Her heart lightens a little when she sees a flicker of a smile from Slyvie too.“Well-“ Giovanni exclaims, looking at Slyvie again, “you heard Beartrap. We’re coming in nerd!”  
“Wait, I-“ Slyvie’s objection is cut off by Giovanni muscling inside, his jacket bumping into Sylvie’s shoulder on the way. Molly follows, stuck halfway between sheepish steps and determined glare.  
They’re already partway into the living room before they both hear a sputtering Slyvie and a slamming door. _Well, mission accomplished, I guess?_

Now onto the real task at hand. As Slyvie walks into the room, mouth open and finger up to berate Giovanni again, Molly turns and pulls Slyvie into a bear-hug. At least her best approximation of one. Her arms are too short to reach completely around him and instead just barely touch on his back, her face pressed to his chest. She squeezes anyway. “Bear Friend Hug!”  
She might have felt more self-conscious if Slyvie hadn’t explicitly stated multiple times in their first session that they were friends and it was okay for her to hug him when she wanted. It was a terrible responsibility, but Molly wouldn’t use such a great power for evil. Slyvie wouldn’t say it but he probably needed a hug now to tell him he was going to be okay. For a sinking second she thinks she’s misjudged it, feeling Slyvie tense under her body. It takes until Slyvie leans into her slightly, patting her sides with his hands and mumbling ‘Sheep Friend Hug’ under his breath, for the feeling to dissipate. An odd, furry pressure grazes against her back slightly and Molly internally squees a little at the idea that Slyvie is hugging her with his tail. Slyvie doesn’t seem to notice and just leans away slowly. She lets him go. Friendship is built on creating and respecting mutual boundaries after all.

The slam of a fridge door echoes from the small kitchenette and an appalled Giovanni shouts over a small island table, face scrunched into pure distaste. “Foureyes, how do you not have _any_ decent food? There’s barely a single egg in here!”  
Slyvie bristles again, tail mimicking his emotions. “Oh like you have room to talk. I bet you only eat soup!”  
“Hey, it’s damn good soup!” Giovanni honestly looks a little offended. To be fair, he really knew how to make good soup. “But also, I eat other things.”  
Slyvie’s ears flick, sensing an upperhand. “Like what, chips and girl scout cookies?”  
“Don’t mock girl scouts, kid!” Giovanni points at Slyvie with the Soulslugger. “They’re determined little monsters and they deserve your respect.”  
“Uh, guys…” Molly considers using her epithet the dull the tension but the hanging sentence appears to do enough as the two men stop arguing to look at her. “How about we go out and get food? We can get snacks too! That sounds like fun.”

Giovanni and Slyvie both pause.  
“I… don’t think I should go outside like this…” Slyvie doesn’t gesture to the ears and tail but Molly’s sure they all understand. Before the silence can get truly awkward, Giovanni approaches, leaning the Soulslugger loving against the wall (the knife make it wobble, but it stays). Without a word, he picks up Slyvie beneath both armpits and then across one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Meanwhile, he uses the other hand to pick up Molly from her hoodie like a baby kitten (ironically). Slyvie takes a second to respond from sheer surprise but then starts struggling. “What are you doing? I can _walk_!”  
Giovanni hums a tune, happily ignoring the fifteen year old pounding his back as he walks them both to a couch in the living room. He dumps them both down, Molly a bit more carefully than Sylvie. “I command you both as my minions-,” he talks over Sylvie’s indignant squawk that he isn’t a minion, “to sit here and have fun while I get us some awesome snacks.”  
“You can’t really expect me to just-“  
“Beartrap!” Giovanni gestures to her. “As my second in command, I leave you in charge of Knockout while I’m away. Make sure he doesn’t get up from this couch for anything until I get back. Can I trust you with this dire task, my faithful minion.”  
Molly giggles at the same time Slyvie gawks at his minion name. Giovanni had been mulling it over for weeks. “You got it boss! Knockout will remain relaxed until your glorious return.” Slyvie gives her a look worthy of a betrayed Roman emperor.   
“Magnificent! Now, if you don’t mind me, the great Giovanni has some unholy snacks to attain!” Giovanni starts making he way out the apartment, strutting like he always did when he took on his more villainous persona. He shoots off a quick ‘Be Good!’ before quickly slamming the door.

“So…” Slyvie begins, before letting the line drop. Molly’s gotten to learn a lot about Slyvie since they became friends. He’s a great psychologist, though she hasn’t seen many to compare him. He’s calm, smart and knows just what to say to navigate her issues and understand them. He’s kind too, refusing to let her pay for any of his time. Apparently she can pay it back in the future if she wants, which she’s determined to do. But when it comes to situations like this, he shows his more childish side. The side that can’t see why Giovanni wants them both to relax.  
Molly can see the kindness in Giovanni leaving them alone. He doesn’t know how to talk to Sylvie except through teasing him. He cares – she knows he does. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have come to the door with her. With time, she hopes the two of them will settle their differences. For now though…  
“How about we watch something? I found this new magic show and it’s really cool. Wanna see?”  
Slyvie’s ears flick at the change in track. “Uh… sure,” he says softly, adjusting himself to sit more comfortably in his seat but not ultimately getting up. Molly beams and picks up the nearby remote, flicking the TV on and pressing through a few channels before she lands on the show she wants. The man on screen is just starting to show off one of his illusions, bending a drawn spoon on a poster. “That’s not so impressive… just an epithet.”  
“That’s the great part! He’s a Mundie.” She chimes in, grinning at Slyvie’s disbelieving expression. “It’s true! Look, he even wears epithet erasure gloves all the time so if he did have an epithet he couldn’t use it.” She gestures to the white gloves and Slyvie hums curiously, tail spasming as he tries to puzzle out the illusion. He falls into a silence that means he’s likely overthinking things again.   
_Hopefully he doesn’t short out again…_  
They stay like that for a while, watching trick after trick and overawed expression each time. It’s satisfying and for Molly it isn’t dulled by not knowing how the tricks work. Magic is more fun when you don’t know how it works. 

It’s a while before she decides to try speaking again, hoping Slyvie’s calm enough now.  
“You’re not wearing your cologne.” She muses, eyes still focussed on the screen. She feels Slyvie jump through the cushions and smiles. Slyvie’s really easy to scare, for someone who’s so mature.  
“Oh? I didn’t notice.” He pauses, trying to find his words. “Is it bad?”  
Molly turns to Slyvie, smiling. “No, no! It’s good. It doesn’t smell as… musty?” She hopes she remembers what that means. Slyvie’s ears droop and Molly tenses. _Oh crud, I shouldn’t have said that. Darnit Molly, that was an evil thing to say._  
Luckily, Slyvie pushes the conversation on, perhaps picking up on the awkwardness. “How’s school?”  
“It’s nice! The lessons are easy. Except history and gym which you know I’m bad at. Friends are good too, been making some new ones!”  
“That’s… great.” Slyvie smiles at her. It twitches but she knows that’s just because he’s worried about being lonely. She won’t let that happen of course. Friends ride or die together. Giovanni taught her that.  
“How are your ribs healing? It’s been a while, right?”  
Slyvie’s fluffly tail curls up around his waist, unconsciously protecting him. (So cute). “They’re okay. Still tender sometimes, but nothing too bad.” His ears are still drooping and now Molly’s worried. Slyvie may be an open book even without ears and a tail, but right now he’s telling her so much without saying anything at all. She wants to help however she can, but she’s not sure if she has a right too. Maybe she can probe though. Like Slyvie does.  
“The nightmares are getting better too.” She whispers, barely enunciating the words. Slyvie’s ears flick.  
“What?” he pauses, “Oh, right. That’s really good.” The smile’s more free now. “You’re able to sleep better?”  
“Mostly. I still have shifts but not as often anymore. I just sneak back to bed. Not like we get customers that time of night anyway.” She grins devilishly and Slyvie’s face pinches because he knows exactly where she got that idea from. “Do you sleep okay?”  
“I-,“ Slyvie freezes, tail lashing and ears pressing to his skull. They sit in silence and Molly doesn’t interrupt him. See, I can be a good listener too. Slyvie sighs, deep and heavy, giving up on delaying. “Sometimes. Work’s just…”  
“Work?”  
“Yeah… and other things.” Molly doesn’t ask what those other things are, but she can guess. All she can do is be there for Slyvie and she’ll do that 1000%.  
“You’re doing a great job, Slyvie!” She nods, affirming herself. “No-one’s as good of a psychologist as you. You’re smart and kind and strong and brave. You’ll figure it out. I’m sure of it.”  
Slyvie slumps into his seat, pushing his palms to his face. He lets out a raspberry between his hands and Molly giggles despite the seriousness of the conversation. “Of course, you’d say that. You’re my friend. Friends are meant to say that.”  
“True, but friends also don’t lie to each other. So, I’m not lying Slyvie… Do you want to talk about it?”  
Slyvie laugh is dry and humourless. “Hah… you sound like a therapist.”  
“I could be your therapist. If you want?”  
Slyvie drops his hands from his face, raking them through his hair on the way out. “No, thank you. It’s something I can deal with myself.”  
Molly consider pushing further. She can tell Slyvie’s locking something away and she wants to help desperately. But friendships are built on mutually respecting boundaries. “Okay. I’m here if you want to talk though. That’s what friends do.”  
“I know.” Slyvie adjusts himself back into a comfortable position. He’s smiling faintly and Molly can only hope that means she’s helped a little.

They continue watching the show and then a few other random shows as well. Giovanni doesn’t return. Or call. _How far away was the store?_  
Molly realises the thought is sluggish and stalled. She feels really tired all of a sudden. _Light-headed?_ Is Slyvie using his epithet? One glance at him tells her he’s dozing on the couch, head leaning back as he silently breathes. He must still be sleep-deprived. Maybe she is too? She can’t pull together enough awareness to finish the thought. Instead, she looks behind her and sees a blanket thrown messily across the back of the couch. Perhaps Slyvie slept here sometimes. She pouts but picks up the blanket covered in small golden sheep. It’s really cute and soft. Draping it across herself and Slyvie, Slyvie moves slightly to curl into it and her in turn. She chuckles quietly to herself. _Nap and then lunch. Sounds good._  
Molly yawns, pulling the blanket to her chin before leaning on Slyvie. It’s warm and safe here. She feels so much stronger with her friends with her. 

And that thought chases her to sleep as she dreams of bears and sheep and pink kitty-cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dun! What will happen next chapter? Who knows, certainly not me :P
> 
> As always, constructive criticism, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks to everyone who has commented and interacted with my fic so far. You are all so lovely and I look forward to creating more things for you.
> 
> ~ Caz


	4. Giovanni Potage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Apologies for my absence. Work was busy and well now it's not. I love the comments you've all written on this, so I have decided to finish this project. Keep safe everyone!

Looking for a convenience store is proving to be a challenge. Not because Giovanni can’t find one per se. They litter the street corners like abandoned cigarette butts. It’s more that parking near most of them would spell imminent death and destruction to his mom’s car windows if the loiterers with baseball bats are any indication.

_Geez, for a wizkid, that kid sure lives in a cruddy area…_

Giovanni’s an up-and-coming criminal mastermind, so mere goons don’t frighten him. Preposterous! Still, he wishes he hadn’t left the Soulslugger Doombat at the apartment. And maybe he should talk to Slyvie about moving somewhere safer. Giovanni may not be the best with ‘adult’ concepts like property values, but he knows crime when he sees it.

In his periphery, a few goons march menacingly down an alleyway after a smaller man with bats in hands, the sounds of wood on brick echoing down.

_Maybe I should call the boys?_

His betrayal of the Banzai Blasters had been explosive – in some senses literally. Only the greatest villains could boast that their mere leaving of an organisation lead to the arrest and capture of two senior officers.

His minions were obviously awestruck by his feat (read: they didn’t believe him at first). Once Car-Crash added his testimony however (read: Giovanni bribed him with creampuffs), they were so blindsided by the true devilishness of their boss that they declared their undying loyalty to him (read: they found out Giovanni was leaving and he was the reason they stayed, so they left). The process of creating their new gang was slow-going, not helped by Giovanni’s own status as a known criminal to the police.

He's been able to keep a low profile so far, but eventually he knows he might need to take an extended leave of absence from the city until things cool off. He hasn’t gotten to telling Beartrap that particular idea yet, though she’s probably figured it out already.

Turning another corner, Giovanni sees the promise land before him. A small lot off to the side has a few shops around its edges. Chiefly, a convenience store and a coffee shop.

_Jackpot!_

Giovanni indicates and turns in, parking up and rushing into the store. The pickings aren’t great. Some snacks, candy and ingredients for dinner later he’s paying at the counter. The cashier, a middle-aged disinterested woman with a bob haircut and a phone glued to her ear, doesn’t pay him much mind as he puts the cash down, scanning her eyes over it before nodding in silent acknowledgement. Giovanni doesn’t complain, taking the food and shovelling it into the car.

As he shifts the final small bag of popcorn into the back, his eyes glance over at the coffee shop. It’s hardly what he’d call nice, maybe not even cosy. The walls are sunbleached and the windows dusty. Still, he sees the few people sitting inside talking over hot drinks and he groans internally.

_One drink for the road couldn’t hurt… might be the last time in a while…_

The more he stands there the more he talks himself into it and before he really realises he’s locking the car up and walking into the shop. Welp, too far into it now.

The people in the shop don’t pay any mind to him besides a perfunctory glance. A part of him prickles at being passed over like he was a mere citizen rather than a world class criminal, but he quickly shakes his head and makes for the counter. He’s above those concerns. They’ll know his name soon anyway.

Speaking of names. “What would you like, Mr…” the server at the counter tilts his head slightly.

“Oh! Uh… hot chocolate, cream, marshmallows. Takeout. And it’s Gio, uhm, Gio Vanni.” Nailed it.

“Okay, Mr. Vanni. Just stand to the side there and it’ll be right out.”

Giovanni nods, paying for the drink. He steps aside, moving into a small alcove off to the side and crossing his arms into his jacket. Just a few minutes and he’s out of here.

He hears the small bell above the door and looks over. His heart sinks. Blue uniform, yellow hair and a real-ass goddamn sword.

_CRAP!_

Giovanni spins around and presses his back to the wall.

 _Why’s there a cop here! And it’s_ her _too!_

He didn’t know if he should be laughing or crying. Of course, of all the places he’d be today, it’s in a coffee shop with a cop who wants to arrest him and knows his face. He can’t go to jail! At least not before he drives Beartrap home because she is _not_ walking through these streets alone if he has breath in his body.

“Hey Perce, wait up will ya?” Another voice he recognised.

“But Ramsay, I though you were requesting a break and a drink? Were you not?” The cop lady sounds slightly confused.

“Well, yeah?” Ramsay pauses, then spoke quieter. “Didn’t think you’d take me seriously though.”

“Ramsey, until I return you to your cell, we are officially working together on this case. Nothing will get solved if you are tired and dehydrated.” She says it with such conviction, like it’s a fact more than a consideration.

A deep, rumbling chuckle. “Guess you’re right.”

 _I need to get out of here!_ Giovanni gets ready to run for the exit but freezes in place when he sees that cop lady is standing in front of it, blocking any chance of exiting without being seen. _Double crap._

He’s needs a plan and he needs it now. He could hope she comes closer inside and teleport behind her, but if she saw him she’d chase him down and call backup. The car wouldn’t be able to hold up to that kind of chase and even if it could he didn’t have a safehouse right now that wouldn’t endanger someone he cared about. A direct confrontation or the fog of lost souls was out for the same reason.

“One espresso, black as it comes.” Giovanni eyes light up. It’s a longshot, but honour among thieves, right?

As Ramsey finishes ordering, he stands off to the side, humming a tune. Giovanni falls to his knees, crawling slowly past thankfully empty tables until he reaches Ramsey.

He finds a loose, untucked edge of Ramsey’s shirt and tugs on it firmly a few times. Ramsey tenses and his feet begin to pivot but instead of turning he freezes. In the next moment Giovanni sees the flap of shirt and his fingers have turned to gold, melding together and holding him in place. He squeaks. This is the exact _opposite_ of what he wanted!

“Kid!” Ramsey looks down, eyes instantly flashing in recognition (or was the just the light reflecting from the gold?). “What the _hell_ are you doing here?” he whispers harshly.

“Uh… Coffee?” Giovanni shrugs weakly, grin wobbling.

Ramsey’s brows twitch. They stare at each other for a moment, as presumably Ramsey tries not to draw attention to Giovanni’s presence and alert the cop lady.

Ramey pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to keep your head down and when I give the signal, you walk out of here and drive away. Got it?” Giovanni nods frantically. “Good.”

The gold rescinds itself and Giovanni, now freed, crawls back to the wall he’d been plastered to before. He tries to play it cool, but finds his hands shaking. He shoves them into his jacket pockets and waits uneasily for the signal. Maybe going to Ramsey was a bad idea? After all, Giovanni wasn’t part of the Banzai Blasters anymore. He likely had no reason to help him. And he was even working with the police, though he didn’t know exactly how willing the cooperation was.

Each clang, clash and rush of steam echoes across the dingy coffee shop and Giovanni feels sweat begin to drop down his forehead. Finally he hears the same voice that called out his drink before.

“Espresso black for a Mr. Murdoch?”

“Right here. Wait a second, just getting some cash.” From a reflection in one of the metal bars, Giovanni can see a distorted image of Ramey turning out his pockets and then feigning shock. “Crap. Hey Perce, I think you forgot to give me my allowance.”

“Oh? I swore I gave it to you when we left the station this morning. Are you sure you didn’t leave it in the car?”

“Not sure. I mean, I could deal with this myself.” Ramsey shrugs, gesturing to his golden eye. “But I thought I’d be an upstanding prisoner and come clean.”

Percy’s brow scrunched together in thought. “I’ll handle this transaction. But either you pay me from your allowance or consider this an advance on your next one.”

Ramsey smiles easily, if crookedly, at her. Gesturing subtly to the counter, he shifts aside. “I wouldn’t expect any different. Now let’s pay and _get out of here_.”

At the same time Percy moves away from the door and deeper into the café, Giovanni shucks his jacket up as high as he can and beats retreat down the other column of tables. He may be using his epithet to move just that bit faster but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t turn back or let up, reaching the door and scampering back to the car before he even chances a look up.

Percy is still at the counter, Ramsey hemming her in and blocking her peripheral sight. Giovanni makes a promise to himself as he enters the car that if they meet again, he’s going to return the favour. What good is a villain who can’t help other villains? With that vow, he turns the key and races back to Knockout’s place.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline running out of his system but as he drives his eyelids flutter and he feels so tired. _Damn, did the kid get me with his dust?_ He shakes his head like a dog, the movement stirring him for a few moments before he’s right back at it. _Need to… pull over_. As he turns onto the final street, Giovanni feels his muscles unfurl despite his best efforts, brain stuttering as he feels the car take a final turn and he blacks out.


End file.
